


(Not) A More Perfect World

by DaisyTaylor



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angelic Side Projects, Angels are Dicks (Supernatural), Angels don't have great foresight, Angels really are dicks, Author is Bitter, Because I have not seen Season 11 of Supernatural, Because now she's got a target on her back, Big Brother Dean, But definitely pre-11, Clary can take care of herself, Clary does what she wants, Clary has no one, Clary still has the sight, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Danger Magnet, Danger-prone Clary, Demons still know who Clary is, Even if she doesn't remember, F/M, Fighting is muscle memory, Hunters are just mundane Shadowhunters, I'll eventually think of a title, Jocelyn is still dead, Luke just kinda mic-dropped Clary, M/M, Maybe if I keep adding tags, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Memory Magic, More than one way to skin a demon, Not sure where it's going to fall in Supernatural, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Overprotective Jace Wayland, Please no spoilers, Pre-season 11 Supernatural, Rude - Freeform, Still haven't thought of a title, Still rude, They just thought they could bippity bop her back into Art school, What did they think was going to happen, Which is dangerous, but no memories, duh - Freeform, when she just saved the mother-effing world, with no consequences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 09:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21390259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyTaylor/pseuds/DaisyTaylor
Summary: "Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe - it gives back life to those who no longer exist."  ― Guy de MaupassantClary comes to in a park outside of an abandoned church with no memory of how she got there. It's not the only thing she forgets. She's told that her mother and Dot died in a brutal home invasion, but that didn't explain why Luke had disappeared, or Simon and his family. And despite being enrolled in the Brooklyn Academy of Art, she didn't seem to know anyone there and nor did anyone seem to know her. Clary found herself suddenly and inexplicably alone in the world with no real memory of how it happened.So when she is attacked and nearly killed by a creature that could not possibly exist, she just assumes she had lost her mind until two men come to question her about a string of similar attacks. She quickly falls into their world of saving people and hunting things, not realizing it was always where she belonged.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Clary Fairchild & Dean Winchester, Clary Fairchild & Sam Winchester, Clary Fray & Alec Lightwood, Clary Fray & Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray & Simon Lewis, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Magnus Bane & Clary Fray, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Simon Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so pissed off at the angels in the finale. Clary literally saves the freaking world by murdering her only remaining family member and the angels just fucking yeet her out of the Shadow world? Like, what did they _ want _ her to do?! They obviously didn't have another plan for getting rid of Jonathan. And you know what, if they didn't want her to create new runes, they shouldn't have given her the ability to create new runes! Pisses me off. And the whole thing with her just picking up life where she left it off makes absolutely no sense! She has no home! She almost certainly hadn't been attending classes during that whole time, and everyone she knew wasn't allowed to see her. And you can't tell me that the angels that just inflicted the ultimate punishment on her also decided to hook her up with a nice crib, a full ride to art school, and a bunch of brainwashed mundanes to be her friends. That simply makes no sense. So this is my pissed off fix-it-ish fic with a side of Supernatural because why not. Let me know what you think.

They’re really tall. 

It’s the first thing Clary notices about them when she opens the door of her loft and sees them standing in the hallway.

Her artist’s eye takes in a hundred other little details about them. They’re maybe a decade older than her, well-built, and beautiful; one with candy apple green eyes and full lips, the other with hazel eyes and dark, silky hair.

They each stand at over six feet, although one is a few inches taller than the other. Their stances are confident and strong, while their body language tells of an extreme comfort and trust with one another. Almost like brothers.

_ Or parabatai, _ a voice whispers in her head nonsensically. 

She shakes the errant thought away, clueless as to where the word even came from.

The strange thought also brings with it a sense of paranoia. She then notices how the taller one’s pants are slightly too short to be fashionable and the other one’s suit jacket was just a hair too tight across the shoulders - suits off the rack and obviously not tailored. The taller one’s hair far too long to meet NYPD’s guidelines.

Which brought her to her next observation - the badges they were holding up. The _ fake _ badges they were holding up.

“Are you Clarissa Fray?” the shorter one asks just a hairsbreadth before she slams the door in their faces and throws the locks into place.

Clary’s heart pounded viciously in her chest as they started to beat on the door.

Something wasn’t right about them, she could feel it in her bones. Just like the _thing_ that had attacked her two nights before.

Clary took off towards the fire escape, barely thinking anything more than _ get out now. _

She had just shoved the window open and put one leg through when she heard the door splinter and boom open behind her and a rush as strong hands yanked her back inside and away from her escape.

Clary spun out of their grasp and lowered herself defensively.

The tall one stood between her and the fire escape, the shorter one stood between her and the door. The shorter one pulled a knife with strange markings from his jacket.

_Disarm him first. Taking down one while being stabbed by the other will do you no good,_ the voice in her head whispered again.

Clary grabbed a thick sketchbook from the shelf next to her and threw it at the one looking to poke holes in her, the pages fluttered out distractingly and she took the slight advantage of somewhat limited visibility to grab a can of spray paint from the same shelf and spray it in the general direction of the other one’s face as he moved toward her. The bright purple spray made him cough and squeeze his eyes shut, and his swing went wide as she ducked away.

She threw the can at the first man’s head and heard the satisfying clang and following curse as it banged off of his forehead, Clary followed the move with a spinning kick that dislodged his grip from the knife and sent it clattering across the floor of her apartment.

Giant arms came around her as she tried to advance on the newly disarmed man. She stomped on what seemed like a size 18 foot and yanked away, grabbing one of the wrists that was holding her and spinning around him so she could use the leverage of his own weight to throw him over her shoulder. 

His large frame destroyed her bookshelf on impact and the resulting chaos distracted her just long enough for the other one to land a punch straight across her face that made blood bloom in her mouth, hot and metal tasting.

She snarled at him with blood-stained teeth because that _fucking hurt_ and threw a couple of punches that he easily blocked while she used his pulled focus to aim a kick to his crotch. 

He went down with a growled, “Son of a bitch!”

Clary whipped around just in time to duck the giant fist swinging for her head and landed three solid strikes to his exposed ribs.

His little grunts of pain were immensely satisfying; she felt a wave of vicious pride and had a vague flash of a man’s voice.

_“Not bad. Not as fluid as me, but not bad.”_

She shook the confusing thought off and ducked again to dodge the man’s long arms. She was doing pretty well for an art student with absolutely no training whatsoever, another thought that confused her and made her mind tilt like she was on a roller coaster and standing still at the same time. 

They traded a few more blows, but Clary’s head wasn’t in it and it was starting to show. He landed more hits than she did and she was quickly losing strength as the pain in her head and body ratcheted up.

In a moment of sheer desperation, she went to grab for a weapon from her side and her disorientation at not finding one allowed him to land a solid kick that spun her backwards and right into the other man.

Everything stopped. The man’s victorious grin dropped as he stared at her and a look of horror quickly overtook his features. 

“Sammy!” he shouted, and she was confused why she wasn’t moving, why he wasn’t moving.

She glanced down and saw the strange knife he had been holding earlier sunk into her stomach to the hilt.

“She’s not the demon!” he yelled.

Clary felt another moment of sickening vertigo before the pain finally made itself known and her legs buckled beneath her. 

Hands that had just been trying to kill her now caught her and lowered her gently to the ground.

“What? What do you mean?” the larger one, Sammy, asked sounding slightly panicked. 

“No flash! No smoking out! And I’m guessing saying ‘Christo’ isn’t going to do much for you is it?” he addressed the last part to her and she stared at him with bright green eyes narrowed with pain and bewilderment.

Maybe this whole thing was a fever dream. Nothing was making any sense. But as Sammy cursed and quickly shrugged off his jacket and used it to put pressure around the knife in her gut, the excruciating pain told her _ no, this is very much real._

“Cas! Castiel!” the one holding her shouted at the ceiling.

“He hasn’t answered for days, Dean. We need to get her to the hospital.” Sammy urged. 

A hospital sounded good. The hospital would put all of the blood back in her; she could feel it hot and wet slipping down her side and onto the floor beneath her. And maybe they would also take the knife out. They would probably do both.

Clary realized somewhere in the back of her mind that she was probably going into shock and that was definitely not a good thing. She had a brief moment to wonder if this is what her mom’s last moments were like before the edges of her vision started to go grey. 

“Hey, hey! Stay with me. Clarissa!” Dean smacked her cheek lightly and she opened eyes that she hadn’t realized had closed to glare at him.

He stabbed her, he didn’t get to make demands; and she hated it when people called her ‘Clarissa’. Only Valent…

Another wave of disorientation flooded her mind as she felt Dean pick her up bridal style and start rushing her out of her apartment. 

When they made it to the street below, Clary had a half a moment to wonder how in the hell they managed to find parking in Brooklyn before the blackness creeping in finally swallowed her whole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of simplicity and creative license (read: abject laziness), I will be playing a little loosey goosey with the Supernatural timeline in how it relates to this story. Imagine Season 5-8 ish. So if you're trying to figure out how two characters are alive at the same time, it's because I haven't rewatched the series in a while and I don't quite remember all of the details.

Catarina Loss was, for lack of a better word, pooped. 

She was on the 11th straight hour of her second 12-hour shift at the hospital that week and it was only Tuesday. There had been a small outbreak of demon pox in lower Manhattan that had required her assistance the week before, and Madzie had catapulted into her terrible 10’s in spectacular fashion by turning her math tutor into a gecko.

So she feels justified that she didn’t notice anything off at first. It wasn’t until she overheard one of the residents gushing over the handsome detective that had brought in the stabbing victim that she took notice. She hadn’t heard about any stabbings and it seemed unusual for detectives to show up before the doctors did, it was usually the other way around.

“Hey, what stabbing victim?” Cat leaned over the counter to get the attention of the young resident, Fatima Alvi. 

Fatima flicked her long black ponytail over her shoulder to look at Cat in surprise.

“Are you still here? You’ve been here longer than I have and I feel half dead. How much longer is your shift?” she asked concerned.

“Oh, I’m almost done. Just thought I would check in on a few patients before I finished updating these charts, then I’m out of here. But I didn’t know we had a stabbing victim come in tonight.”

“Oh, yes. A young woman, unidentified and unconscious. She came in with multiple contusions, a couple of broken fingers, three fractured ribs, and a single stab wound to the abdomen. She’s very lucky, it just missed all of the vital organs..”

Cat winced in sympathy. “Do you know what happened to her?”

“The detective said she had been mugged, but he wouldn’t say much else. Poor girl looks like she was hit by a bus, whoever did that to her was not pulling their punches.”

Catarina felt a small stir of rage in her gut. She hated cases like this. Sicknesses were one thing, but the things humans did to one another… it made her think of Madzie. The little girl that had become her whole world not too long ago was quite powerful for her age, but even with her powers she could not stop the horrible things that happened to her. Mundane women didn’t even have that to keep them safe. Maybe she could stop by on her rounds and heal up some of the worst damage, or at least take some of her pain away.

“Even still, I wouldn’t be surprised if whoever attacked her also made a trip to the ER within the next few days.”

“Why do you say that?” Cat asked.

Fatima smiled grimly. “Because she put up one hell of a fight.”

+++

“Dean, we didn’t know.” Sam insisted as Dean rinsed the girl’s blood from the demon knife in the motel sink. He could still hear the sound she made when he quickly pulled the knife from her stomach and stashed it in the impala before running her into the ER, it’s not like they could let the knife end up in evidence somewhere. The water had long since run clear, but Dean continued to run it through the scalding water like it would wash away the last six hours.

Sam continued to scrub at the purple flecks of paint that colored his face with a damp rag, but only succeeded in making the skin not purple turn bright red with irritation.

“I should have known,” Dean murmured. “I knew something felt off, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But with Cas not answering the past couple of days, I was on edge and I just…” he shut the water off and shook a few droplets from the knife into the basin before tossing it onto his bed.

“We broke into that girl’s home and beat the crap out of her. I stabbed her. And she’s just a normal person.” Dean paused before letting out a dark chuckle. “You know, it’s stupid. But I don’t think I’ve ever hit a girl before. One that wasn’t also a monster, I mean.” He ran a hand over his face.

“We thought she was a demon. All of these attacks keep happening and she seems to be at the center of it.”

“Yeah, which probably means that she’s the next victim. And we just made her the easiest prey ever.”

“Possibly. But don’t you think it’s a little strange that she tried to run?” Sam gave up on scrubbing with a sigh and stood from where he had been perched on the edge of his bed to pace to the wall they had covered in newspaper clippings. 

“Two strange men show up at a woman’s apartment, she lives alone…”

“Sure, but she didn’t try to call the police, she ran for the fire escape. And then of course, there’s the whole ‘nearly kicking the crap out of us’ thing.”

“Kicked the crap out of _you_.” Dean grumbled.

“Whatever, my point is, even if she’s not the demon, she’s more than just an innocent bystander. She’s gotta know something.”

“So what do you suggest? We can’t exactly waltz up to her hospital bed and say, ‘hi, remember us? We kinda put you in here, but we still have a few questions we’d like to ask you.’ What’s to stop her from calling the real cops on us?”

“Nothing. But like you said, she’s probably the next victim. And whatever has been killing these people is still out there. We have to make sure she’s safe.”

Dean sighed.

“Alright, what the hell. Prison wasn’t that bad last time anyway.”

+++

Cat was exhausted, both physically and magically, and all she wanted to do was go home and sleep for the next ten hours. Still she trudged past the gurneys and computer carts towards her last patient of the day, the fighter in room 322.

She gave a quick courtesy knock before opening the door and stepping inside.

Bright red hair spilled over the hospital pillowcase like blood and Cat caught her breath as she recognized the small, pale figure in the bed.

“Clary!” she gasped, rushing over to her.

Cat hadn’t seen Clary since Magnus and Alec’s wedding nearly six months ago, but Magnus told her what had happened to the young nephilim. 

She thought it was cruel of the angels to have stripped away the girl’s runes and memories. A shadowhunter’s runes were like a warlock’s magic; something so intrinsic in them that to be bereft of it was considered worse than death by some. But to also have your memories erased, not remembering your family and friends, that was a special brand of vicious of which only angels seemed capable.

However merciless the angels were in punishing Clary, Cat thought that at least they would protect one of their own, the girl was practically a babe in the woods like this.

Looking down at the small figure now, covered in bruises and breaks and completely alone in the world, she realized she gave the angels far too much credit.

However, that didn’t explain where the hell everyone else was. Before her banishment, Clary could hardly move three feet without another shadowhunter dogging her steps, and she hated to think they would have left her helpless like this. But Cat had lived a long life, she knew how obedient nephilim were with their ‘the law is hard but it is the law’ crap. An edict from the angels would not have been taken lightly. 

“Clary,” she whispered while reaching to pick up the small hand from the bed. Several of her fingers were splinted and blood was still crusted underneath the pale moons of her fingernails. She really did put up one hell of a fight. 

“Clary, everything is going to be alright, okay? I promise.” Catarina took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing on pulling her magic out from the well deep inside her chest and spreading it over Clary’s prone form.

It would be a bad idea to heal all of her injuries, even if Cat had enough strength for it, a miraculous recovery when the police were already involved was simply not an option. So she directed her magic to heal as much of the internal damage as she could get away with.

She swayed on the spot and quickly withdrew her magic before she exhausted herself. She placed the former shadowhunter’s hand gently back on the bed and quickly turned and left the room. With the boost she had given her, Clary should make a full recovery in no time. 

And Cat had some strongly-worded fire messages to send.

+++

Clary decided she rather disliked being stabbed. She grimaced as her eyes adjusted to the hospital fluorescents.

Once, when she and Simon were kids, they had been messing around on the fire escape outside of her apartment when Clary slipped and fell from one of the lower levels down to the street below. She woke up in the emergency room with a concussion, a fractured wrist, and a veritable swarm of worried adults and one freaked out best friend. Even Alaric had stopped by to drop off a little stuffed dog wearing a sling that said, ‘Sorry you’re feeling ruff!’. 

Clary’s eyes drifted around the empty room to the whiteboard where the hospital staff had been marking her vitals, or rather, 'Jane Doe’s' vitals.

She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. Right. 

The clock above the whiteboard said it was just past seven - p.m. if she had to judge by the fading light peeking in from around the closed blinds. Clary steeled herself with a deep breath and winced as she sat up and began to search for the button or lever that would release one of the bed rails so she could get up.

“It’s on the outside.” A deep voice murmured from the doorway.

Clary’s gaze shot up at the sound to see Dean standing with his shoulders slightly drawn in and his eyes soft and serious.

She immediately tensed and then hissed as her shifting pulled at the stitches in her side.

He walked into the room and quietly shut the door behind him before he turned to her with his palms up in surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he rumbled as he moved towards her slowly. She watched with suspicion as he lowered one hand to press on a lever on the outside of the bed rail, moving it down gently. He then raised both hands again and backed away from her. 

She swung her legs around and stood to face him, barely keeping in the pained gasp that threatened to escape.

It occurred to her as she swayed slightly that she could call the nurse, but the last thing she wanted to do was add potential collateral damage to the situation. She grit her teeth and stared him down, refusing to talk first.

If he wanted her to beg for her life, he was going to have to try harder than this.

She took in his slightly ruffled appearance and felt a little proud at the way he seemed to be favoring one leg slightly. He had changed from the cheap suit he had been wearing when he and his partner had attacked her into well-worn jeans, a green military jacket, and dark brown work boots that had certainly seen better days. Not that the general well-being of her attackers usually meant anything to her, but he seemed far more comfortable like this; although she could see what looked like guilt tightening his jaw and creating lines around his eyes.

He finally broke the silence.

“Look, I’m sorry for…” he gestured towards her abdomen. 

“Stabbing me?” Clary finished, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, it was a mistake. We thought you were dangerous.”

Clary looked down at herself, bruised and bloody, her small frame drowning in the plain white hospital gown.

“Yeah, I’m terrifying,” she deadpanned.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Another deep voice piped up from behind her.

Clary whirled around to face the stranger and nearly collapsed on the spot as her head spun and her body ached.

A man that had not been there a second ago stood motionless in an oversized, khaki trench coat with a slightly puzzled look on his face as he squinted at her.

“How did…?” Clary reeled as she looked back at the closed door on the other side of the room.

“Cas!” Dean gasped as he strode over to the man and took him in a crushing hug.

“Hello, Dean.” the man greeted stoically even as his eyes softened and a corner of his mouth quirked slightly.

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been trying to reach you for days!” 

“On another plane of existence. There is much we need to discuss. But first, I think it is important to tell you that there are several demon-blooded creatures on this floor.”

“‘Demon-blooded’, what in the hell?” Clary exclaimed.

“You’re close, they are from a hell-adjacent dimension.”

Rather than continue to try to make sense of this guy’s babbling, Clary sank back down onto the bed.

“Maybe I really am crazy,” she muttered to herself. “This is me losing it. I’m not here, I’m actually drooling in a straight jacket somewhere. These guys are just the crazies next door. That would explain the little old lady that tried to eat me, and the faux feds that tried to kill me, and Houdini in a trench coat, I’ve lost my mind, just like I’ve lost everything else. It’s not enough to suddenly forget massive chunks of my life and lose everyone I’ve ever known, nope I had to go full-monty and lose my sanity too. That’s great, totally fine.”

She started to hyperventilate which only served to heighten the pain she felt radiating from her side, across her back, and in her head; she shut her eyes tightly against the panic and tried to calm down.

“Oh, hell. Um…” Dean looked at her concerned and a little lost. “It’s going to be okay. Just breathe.” He came over, dragging Cas with him and patted her shoulder lightly.

Clary felt tears run down her face and sniffed loudly as she wailed, “What do you care? You’re just a hallucination that tried to kill me!” 

Cas looked askance at Dean who only winced and said, “It’s a long story. But we should go. We need to get her out of here and somewhere safe; there’s a demon after her.”

Cas nodded and put a hand on both of their shoulders just as Clary cried, “I just want to go home!”

With a rustling sound and a feeling of falling, Clary suddenly found herself sitting on her couch in her apartment with two bewildered men staring down at her.

She looked around at her destroyed living room and the large pool of blood that had turned dark and tacky staining her rug. The splintered bookcase and scattered papers made it look like a tornado had swept through her small loft, but the small corner where she kept her easel and the majority of her art supplies was relatively untouched.

Clary studied the two men as they stared at her in surprise and confusion like she was the one that had caused all of this mess; then she caught the reflection of her eyes glowing bright and golden in one of the cracked frames hanging from the wall. 

That was new.

“Huh.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Brief mention of thoughts of suicide. Reader beware.

“What, so she’s like Anna?” Sam studied Clary as he plopped down in the paisley chair across from her.   
Clary hated paisley. Where had that chair even come from?

She had no idea who this ‘Anna’ was, so she assumed her input wasn’t needed and remained silent. She hadn’t actually said much of anything since she apparently _ teleported _ herself and two fully-grown men into her sitting room. 

There was a paisley throw pillow over there too. Maybe she could abracadabra it into a volcano.

“No,” Castiel, an _ angel of the Lord _ answered. “She is not fallen. She’s something else.”

“Something else like…?” Dean trails off.

It had only taken Sam about twenty minutes to meet them at her crappy loft, but that had been plenty of time for Dean to explain that the whole stabbing thing was actually a result of accidentally misidentifying her as a demon. That he and his brother hunted evil for a living. And to establish very clearly that the angel was off limits to her.

He edged even closer to Cas on the loveseat and continued to stare at Clary with guarded suspicion. If she wasn’t in shock, she would probably coo at them. 

“She was able to effectively channel my grace in a moment of stress, which means that she must have some angelic blood, but she is not an angel, or the demon blade would have had no effect on her.”

“_Some_ angelic blood? Like a nephilim?” Sam sounded alarmed. “Didn’t God have to wipe out all of the nephilim because of how destructive they were?”

Oh, well that is alarming.

“Yes. But that was nephilim created by the union of angels and mortals. This is more likely a case of an angel imbuing a mortal with some of their grace. There were whispers of my brother Raziel planning something like this, but he was very secretive about his side projects so not much is known.”

Castiel considered her for a moment and Clary became more aware of the way the thin hospital gown did little to hide the still-blossoming bruises across her small form or the way that her skin stretched across the jutting knobs of her wrists, knees, and elbows. She couldn’t imagine that she seemed very angelic if she looked even half as weak as she felt. She looked down to her hands fidgeting in her lap.

“Regardless, it is probably why the demon is after her. Angelic energy is like a beacon to them, and without the full capabilities or training of an angel she would be an easy target. It’s a surprise that she has survived this long without an attack.”

“I don’t think I have.” Clary murmured as she reached back to touch the starburst scar on her left shoulder. She met Dean’s eyes and he tilted his head for her to go on.

“For a long time, it was like I was underwater. Then I woke up one morning about six months ago and all of my family was gone, my friends were gone, none of my clothes fit right, everything I had was years out of date. Nothing made sense. I know how my mom died, that I am in school, that I live here alone, but I don’t remember how I got here. I just...don’t fit in my own life. And then a few months ago I got this,” she turned her back to them and pulled her hair to one side, shrugging the sleeve of the gown down to show them the bright red, raised scar in the shape of a Lichtenberg figure that covered one shoulder blade and coiled towards her spine.

She heard Sam get up and come over to inspect the skin, letting out a perplexed hum.

“It almost looks like you were struck by lightning, except...”

“Except it wasn’t lightning, it was some sort of mutant scorpion the size of a dog. The raised part in the center is where it struck me.” 

Sam lightly pressed on the area in question and felt the firmness of the scar tissue beneath.

“But then this arrow came flying out of nowhere and killed it. I never did see who shot it. The thing was just there one second and poof,” she snapped her fingers for emphasis, remembering the split second of golden fire she saw before the entire image dissipated and she was left wondering if she had imagined the whole thing. 

“I was really weak the next morning, and then nothing. Except for the scar, it’s like it never happened.”

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Dean asked suspiciously and Sam moved away to sit back down. 

“For starters, what was I going to tell them? That I was attacked by a giant, talking scorpion? My five year plan does not include being committed, thank you very much. And secondly, I’m a 23 year-old art student. Do you really think I have health insurance?”

“It spoke to you?” Castiel scrutinized her with a perturbed expression. “What did it say?”

Clary hesitated. It was one thing to tell them that she had been attacked, it was another thing entirely to tell these strangers everything about that night. She supposed omitting a few details wouldn’t hurt.

“Just a bunch of crazy stuff,” she flapped her hand impatiently, “Said it was going to drink my spinal fluid, called me names…”

It had no shortage of names to call her - Clarissa Morgenstern, the forsaken shadowhunter, light-bringer…

_God-killer. _

Clary cleared her throat. She may have been raised agnostic, but that didn’t sound like a good thing no matter what you believed in.

“It’s not like we carried on a conversation.”

She suddenly became aware of how cold it was in her apartment and how vulnerable she felt in the paper thin gown.

“If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m just going to go put some pants on.”

As she gingerly stepped around the wreckage of her apartment, Clary wondered what precisely she was supposed to do now. Art school seemed insignificant in the face of angels and demons, especially now that she’s been attacked for a second time in the span of a few months and is apparently being _ hunted _ by another demon.

She missed her family so fiercely in that moment that the ache of it nearly took her breath away. After finally making it into her bedroom and closing the door, she slumped on the edge of her bed and willed the tears not to fall. 

_ What am I going to do? _

She had no one. She had nothing. And something was trying to kill her.

Clary had a split second to think, _ maybe she should let it. _

A sob tried to claw its way out of her throat and she swallowed it back down.

_ No. _

She swiped the tears off of her face.

_ I’ll find something to live for tomorrow. Today, I just have to keep breathing. _

She took a deep breath and stood to put on a pair of sweatpants.

After cautiously pulling on a t-shirt, Clary glanced around the room and made a decision.

She grabbed the barely-used duffle bag from her closet and started filling it with the basics: clothes, toiletries, the emergency cash fund her mother had hidden, and a single sketchbook. 

Leaving art school didn’t mean she had to leave art.

She also grabbed the photo from her nightstand. It was a picture of her from her 17th birthday with her mom, Luke, Dot, and Simon - her little, lost family. She removed it from the frame and shoved it between the pages of the sketchbook before zipping the duffle closed.

Then she tugged on a pair of socks and stuffed the baggy ends of her sweatpants into her favorite pair of broken-in combat boots. It wasn’t cute, but it was functional. 

Clary shifted the bag onto her shoulder, wincing slightly at the pressure, and opened her bedroom door.

She followed the sound of faint arguing to the living and stood quietly in the doorway

“...supposed to do? If Cas is right, this girl is like catnip for demons. Even if we kill this one, there will just be another.” Sam asserted.

“What, so you want to move in? Play demonic whack-a-mole with the girl we nearly killed? Sleeping on the sofa? I don’t see that working.”

“Well, we can’t just leave her here.”

Clary dropped the duffle bag to the ground with a muted thump and two heads swiveled to her, the angel notably missing from the room.

“That won’t be an issue,” she assured them. “Because I’m going with you.”

Sam and Dean both squinted at her, then turned to look at each other, then back at her. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to come up with a response before finally settling with a mild, “What?”

“I’m going with you.” Clary repeated, her voice strong and stubborn. “It’ll throw whatever is stalking me off my trail, and I’ll learn how to do what you do. I’ve already proven that I can keep up with you two. You can teach me the rest.”

“You can’t just uproot your life to chase monsters, that’s insane.” Dean argued and Clary raised her eyebrow at him incredulously.

“Really? You can say that with a straight face? You?” Sam snorted. 

This started an argument that seemed like it had been aired several times before. Clary took a moment and looked around at the sad little apartment that her mother left her. This was the extent of her world. She saw the ghosts of her mother and Luke and Simon; the family and life that she once possessed that had disappeared seemingly overnight. This little apartment was like a shrine to her own life and she suddenly couldn’t take staying inside of it for a minute longer.

“Listen, you can argue all you want.” She interrupted their snarking. “But in the end, you’re going to take me with you anyway, so, why don’t we just skip the arguing?”

“What makes you think we’re going to do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll go to the police and tell them that Dean and Sam Winchester broke into my apartment, beat me up, stabbed me, and then took off. There will be a lot of tears and trembling and then your pretty faces will be on the nightly news. I’m a pretty good sketch artist, so you’ll be easily recognized.” Clary felt a little guilty blackmailing them like this, but this was the only way she was going to stay sane. 

Sam looked disapproving but Dean only narrowed his eyes at her in consideration. 

Clary shifted beneath their gazes.

“And besides, if I stay here, I’m dead meat. After all of the trouble you went through to save me after stabbing me, I’m guessing that’s not a result you’re comfortable with.” she added quietly as she scrutinized the paint speckled rug at her feet.

Sam’s gaze softened and something like resolve hardened Dean’s eyes.

“Look, it doesn’t have to be forever. Just let me get my feet underneath me. I’ll even help fix your IDs.” she bargained.

“Wait, what’s wrong with our IDs?” Sam asked, thrown off by the non-sequitur.

Clary snorted. “Didn’t you wonder how I realized you weren’t real cops?” She paused and glanced between them, neither of them responding.

“Well first, the seal on your badge was on backwards.” She pointed to Sam before shifting her gaze to Dean, “And yours said ‘Defective’ instead of ‘Detective’.”

Sam laughed and Dean let out a string of curses as he whipped out his wallet to examine the fine print.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Yeah, did you two go to a guy named Jeremy in Queens for those?”

“How did you know that?” Sam asked bewildered.

“He’s kind of like the worst kept secret in the boroughs. Everyone knows that he makes fakes, but they’re so shitty that the cops don’t even bother arresting him. People that go to him are usually from out of town or are dumb minors that are willing to roll the dice. I was the latter.”

Sam shook his head grinning.

Just then, Castiel popped back into the room and nearly gave Clary a heart attack.

“Jesus!”

“No, I am Castiel,” he clarified with that same squinted look. “And I have found and extinguished the demon.”

“That was quick.” Dean said as he got up and moved to stand next to Castiel, leaving barely any personal space between them.

“You were right, it was definitely following Clarissa. It left trails all over the place. It seems like there might be others as well.”

Clary had a moment to wonder if he meant ‘trails’ like the goo that snails left behind or ‘trails’ like a trail of dead bodies, before she caught on to his first statement.

“You killed it? How?” Was it really that easy?

“I smote it with my angelic grace.”

That didn’t sound easy.

“Oh,” she paused, trying to make the words into something other than ‘smote with angelic grace.’

“Huh. I guess it’s a good thing I’m going with you.” She brightened. “So where are we going?”

Castiel looked questioningly at Dean who only stared at Sam with his eyebrows raised.

Sam sighed before turning to her with a face that said he was about to try to reason with her.

“This isn’t something you should enter into lightly. You could be killed.” 

His voice was soft and serious and Clary took a moment to put her thoughts together, wanting to answer him just as seriously. 

“I understand that I would be in danger. But I’m in more danger now, alone, unprotected, and clueless as to what is after me. I need your help to show me how to defend myself. This isn’t a vacation for me, this is a last ditch effort to stay alive. Without it, I don’t think I’ll survive much longer.”

She realized how melodramatic she sounded, but standing there in her ruined apartment with words like ‘demon’ and ‘nephilim’ floating around in her mind, Clary realized that she was telling the stone truth.

“What about your life here?” Sam asked gently. “You can’t just up and disappear.”

Clary thought about her dead mother and pseudo-sister, her missing best friend, and the father-figure that had abandoned her. She thought about the fabric of her life that gaped with missing pieces and holes torn clean through, and she imagined what would happen if she too vanished from the picture.

“No one will even notice I’m gone.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jace was on his fifth...no, seventh...his whateverth drink of the day when his phone vibrated against one of his empty glasses on the bar top making a buzzing, clinking noise.

Isabelle’s smiling face popped up on the screen and he watched it until it went away. He knew she was worried about him, especially today - exactly four years since he’d met Clary.

Honestly, he was surprised she even remembered. Shadowhunters weren’t big on dates unless a war had started or ended on it.

But Jace remembered. He remembered her fiery attitude and righteous indignation; how young and innocent she’d been before she met him. Before her mother died at the hands of his Parabatai. Before he nearly killed her. Before she had to kill her own father and brother to protect a world that abandoned her in the end. Before he ruined her.

Jace raised his glass in a half-mocking and half-solemn toast.

“Happy Anniversary, Clary.”

His phone buzzed again as he threw his drink back and this time it was a text.

_ ANSWER YOUR PHONE. _

He gestured to the bartender for a refill and flipped his phone face-down.

After his last mission when he’d taken on a nest of demons without calling for backup and Isabelle had had to reattach three of his fingers and reset his shoulder and eight of his ribs, Alec had put him on stand-down.

_ Just temporarily. _ He’d said. _ Just until you’re able to adjust. _

Jace had nearly decked him. What did Alec know? Or Izzy? Both of them got their happy endings. Simon and Izzy were still in the sickeningly sweet honeymoon glow of new love, and Magnus and Alec had never left it.

Meanwhile, Jace had lost the love of his life… again.

He sniffed and rubbed at his burning eyes, shooting a grateful look as the bartender quickly topped him off before leaving. At least no one here would try to cheer him up.

In order to avoid the pitying looks and soft questions about his feelings, he’d chosen a mundie bar somewhere in Queens and unknown to his siblings. Someplace gentrified enough that a worse for wear, leather-clad, tattooed man crying by himself at a bar caused several of the other day-drinkers to eye him warily, but still leave him alone for the most part.

He knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at Alec and Izzy, especially Izzy. She’d told him a few days after Clary’s memories had been wiped that Clary and Izzy had planned to become Parabatai. He knew from experience that to even consider taking the bond, Izzy had to love Clary as much as he did. And to lose that relationship, to lose the chance at completing yourself as a shadowhunter, as a warrior, as a nephilim, was no small thing.

Even now, as devastated as he was, Jace could feel Alec’s heart beating beside his, keeping him tethered even though he wanted to drown.

So, he couldn’t be angry with either of them.

But he was angry. He was furious - at the angels for taking Clary’s memories, at Clary for being noble and sacrificing herself rather than allow her brother to destroy the world, at Jonathan for being a dick, at Valentine for putting them all in this position, at himself for letting Clary go, at anyone who stole away even a moment of what had become his last day with her.

He was so goddamn angry that he couldn’t breathe.

And he knew if he had to look at Izzy who’d lost her Parabatai, or Simon who’d lost his best friend, or Luke who’d lost his daughter, or Alec and Magnus who’d lost their friend - if he had to be around other people that loved her, he would break.

So he let his phone ring. And when the fire messages came, he let them burn up on the bar without reading them until the bartender yelled at him to go smoke outside. 

That’s where Izzy found him an hour later. Or at least, he assumed it was Izzy. He hadn’t turned around yet, still watching the ice melt in the bottom of his glass, but he felt someone stalking towards him and he wasn’t lucky enough for it to be someone he’d get to kill. He sighed and put the glass down with a clink.

“I’m still in time-out. And it doesn’t look like the sky is on fire, so you don’t need me.”

He expected a barbed retort or a soft reply, you never could tell with Izzy, but he did not expect the silence that greeted him.

He turned around and saw Izzy staring at him glassy-eyed, her mouth parted slightly as she took small, sharp breaths. His eyes widened in shock and he quickly abandoned his bar stool to take her small hands in his.

He lowered his head to meet her gaze.

“Izzy, what’s wrong? Is it Max?”

Isabelle rarely lost control over any emotion other than rage, to see her like this sent numerous warning signals off in his mind. He racked his brain, trying to remember if there had been anything big on the institute’s radar the last time he’d been in.

“It’s Clary.”

All thoughts ceased.

“She’s gone.”

\---

Jace couldn’t remember how they got back to the institute, but when the doors opened, a wall of sound hit him and he blinked out of his fugue.

Alec was standing with Magnus and Catarina in the middle of the Ops center, barking out orders as his husband held an intense conversation with the other warlock. Simon set a sketchbook down on a table and came to hug Izzy tightly. 

Clary had been attacked. She had been taken to the hospital where Cat worked. Cat had been trying to get ahold of him for hours.

The information Izzy had given on the way over filtered through to him slowly. 

Clary had disappeared from the hospital.

She hadn’t been seen since.

She was gone.

The words swirled around in his head and he was grateful for the alertness rune that Izzy drew on his arm, but he didn’t think it was the alcohol that was making the room spin. 

He felt his breath leaving him in forceful, jerky gasps and Alec, Magnus, and Cat turned at the noise.

_ What the hell is happening? _

“You’re having a panic attack. You need to slow your breathing.” Cat was suddenly standing in front of him.

“I’m going to take your hands now.” She grabbed his hands and put them on her shoulders. “Try to breathe as I breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

She moved her shoulders up and down with her breaths in a slow rhythm that he tried to replicate as his head swam. She winced slightly and he realized his fingers were digging into her shoulders as she spoke to him.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus.

When he was able to open his eyes, he saw that most of the Ops center had cleared out. 

Alec joined their huddle and reached out to grasp Jace’s shoulder.

“We’re going to find her.” He said evenly. “In the meantime, Clary is strong. She’s going to be fine.”

Jace nodded and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Where are we at with finding her?”

“I’ve been trying to track her with a few of the things left behind when she…” Magnus trailed off, shooting an apologetic glance at Jace. “It’s not working. She hasn’t had contact with any of these items in months, nor was she very attached to any of them. And a lot of the items were shared with Izzy. It’s difficult for the magic to ascertain who we’re attempting to track.”

“What about her art supplies? A sketchbook? We traded clothing, not hobbies.” Izzy suggested, giving Simon a small smile as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“We tried that.” Magnus answered. “It didn’t work. Maybe she hadn’t been doing much sketching lately. But the signature was too weak to get a trace.” 

“And the kindjals have already been reclaimed by the institute.” Jace added morosely as he collapsed into a chair at the table holding Clary’s forgottens. He picked up a moss green sweater and saw a brief flash of her while she was wearing it, her smile soft and eyes bright as she looked up at him from her sprawl on his couch. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that he could still hear her chiming laugh as he rubbed one of the delicate sleeves between his fingers. 

“Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way.” Magnus started slowly as he moved around to look at the items on the table. 

“Maybe the reason we can’t track Clary from these items is because we’re not looking for the Clary that they belonged to.”

“What do you mean?” Alec asked as he sat down next to Jace.

“The drawings, the clothing, the weapons, even her stele. They won’t work because the Clary we’re looking for has never touched them. We’re looking for the mundane version of her. The Clary she was before the Shadow World. The drawings are of all of us and what she experienced here. The clothing and weapons are things she obtained during a life she no longer remembers.”

Jace flinched at the reminder and placed the sweater back on the table.

“We need to track her with something more intrinsic than belongings.”

“Like what?” Izzy asked, and Magnus hesitated before blowing out a breath. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought.

“Like blood.” Simon interjected, realization lighting up his eyes as he glanced up from the table.

“Yeah, that’d be great, Simon. But we didn’t exactly wear vials of each other’s blood around our necks. We weren’t that kind of couple.” Jace bit out lowly. 

“Not _her_ blood.” Simon insisted. “Ithuriel’s blood. You both share his blood, that’s pretty intrinsic.” 

“So do you.” Izzy pointed out.

“Barely. Certainly not to the degree Clary and Jace do.”

“Do you think it could work?” Jace asked Magnus, hope beginning to lift the darkness clouding his eyes.

Magnus and Cat shared a look, seeming to communicate with only a few shifts in expression. Cat nodded decisively and looked at the shadowhunters.

“Let’s draw some blood.” 

+++

When they get to the motel, Sam and Dean are all business; they shove random articles of clothing and weaponry into duffel bags and leave Clary and Castiel standing aimlessly near the doorway. The weight of her own duffel is starting to make the ache in her gut throb and burn, and Clary hisses and drops the bag to the ground. Picking it up again will be hell, but she just needs a breather for a moment.

She studies the ugly fuchsia wallpaper and the brown carpet of the room with what she hopes is concealed disgust. The realization that this will also be her life for the foreseeable future does little to comfort her. But hey, she’s a New Yorker - a few bed bugs and suspicious stains - _ and smells _ \- aren’t going to kill her.

The boys are almost done packing and Clary braces herself to begin the slow process of picking up her bag from the ground. Who knew getting stabbed would be so inconvenient?

Castiel squints at her as she wobbles the few inches towards the floor and says, “I can heal you, if you would like. I would have done so at the hospital, but Dean has explained to me the importance of consent and ‘personal space.’” The air quotes he uses are adorably awkward, and in between saying, “Oh God, yes,” and stumbling towards him, she wonders if all angels are this endearing.

Something in her responds to the thought with an obnoxious _ no! _

The angel’s fingertips are warm and dry against her forehead and she catches a faint scent of lightning and petrichor before warmth like sinking into a hot bath fills her body. She sighs with relief as the pain dissipates.

“If you’re going to be traveling with the Winchesters, I will also need to keep you hidden from tracking spells. The process is fairly easy, however, it is incredibly painful. I imagine it will be even more painful for you seeing as how you are freshly healed and still rather weak from your injuries.”

“Wait, tracking spells?” Clary looks at the brothers.

“Yeah, not everyone is a fan of ours. It’s a precaution, keeps the bad guys from dogging our steps.” Dean explains as he swings his bag over one shoulder.

“And it’s painful?”

“Yes. I will need to engrave your ribs with Enochian protection sigils.”

Clary processes that for a moment, not sure which part she should address first.

“You’re going to perform surgery on me. In order to carve magic symbols. Onto my ribs.” She reiterated.

“No, it is not surgery.” Castiel looked slightly confused. Clary was beginning to wonder if that was just his resting face.

“It’s sort of like how he healed you,” Sam clarified. “You just stand there, and his grace does all the hard work. It might seem a little strange, but it’ll keep you safe. Well, at least _safer._”

“Like he said though, it hurts like hell. So if you want to back out and go home…” Dean trailed off.

And she could see that he really meant it. They still weren’t 100% sold on her joining them, Dean especially.

Regardless of how necessary it might be, Clary also sensed that this would be her first test to see if she was really capable of doing what they do. Pain, it seemed, would play a heavy role in her new world.

There was something they didn’t understand about her though. Clary couldn’t remember a lot of things. She couldn’t remember going to her own mother’s funeral or why the university she had been attending for years was suddenly so alien to her. She couldn’t remember where she had learned to fight or why she would see random flashes of heterochromic eyes in her dreams.

Pain, however, was as familiar to her as the feeling of charcoal between her fingers. She would feel echoes of it everywhere - sharp, stabbing pains that always brought with them faint stirrings of adrenaline and jamais vu. She’d felt bones breaking and acid eating at her hand. She knew what it felt like to choke on her own blood and she could describe the feeling of flesh and muscles parting around steel as easily before meeting the Winchesters as she could after.

She couldn’t say why, but she knew with bone-deep certainty that whatever Castiel could throw at her would pale in comparison to the pain that she had forgotten.

Clary looked at Dean with a burning challenge in her eyes.

“Do it.”


End file.
